


I Can Make You Hurt

by Dangerousnotbroken



Series: I Can Make You Scared [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crying, Dom!Cas, Domination, M/M, Spanking, Sub!Dean, Submission, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7689667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Dean dropped his guard and let Cas lay hands on him, It was incredibly difficult for Dean. But Dean had no idea how difficult it was for Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Make You Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> This timestamp is a retelling of the first scene Cas and Dean had together during the course of I Can Make You Scared. There's nothing new here officially, but it's the same scene from Cas' perspective. I wanted to give you lovelies a little window into Cas' mind during this scene, and if KreweOfImp's beta notes are to be believed....it went well. I do have some longer returns to this series planned, eventually, but for now, have some spanking.

“We’re going to start slow and simple. No bondage, no paddles. I’m going to strike you with the palm of my hand only. Ok?” The words are as much for Castiel’s own benefit as they are for Dean’s. The man needs to know he’s safe and respected, certainly, but Castiel also needs the reminder that it’s all they’ve agreed to for the time being. The sight of Dean naked in his room stirs a primal kind of desire in him, a want so strong it borders on need, and he has to take slow, deep breaths to calm himself. He’s surprised at the lack of shakiness in his own voice when he speaks.

For a scene like this, Cas would usually prefer to be just as naked as the one submitting to him. He likes to tease. He loves knowing what he has planned and not sharing all the details with his sub, loves to keep them guessing. There is something so incredibly delicious about the power that comes from holding that knowledge over them. If he’s naked, his thick cock on display, hard and heavy and just out of reach, he can taunt them with the idea of sex. Maybe Castiel will spank the living daylights out of his sub, then reward them with his cock in their freshly spanked ass. Maybe they’ve been bad and they don’t get fucked. It’s up to Castiel to decide, and his nudity seems like it should be a promise but it isn’t. He’ll never stop enjoying that.

This is not the time for those sorts of games, and Castiel needs the reminder as much as Dean does. Dean might be up for something like that down the road, or he might not. This might not go any further than what happens tonight. But one thing is certain, indelibly fixed in Castiel’s mind as he stands just out of reach of the stoic man before him: Dean does not need to be taunted. So Castiel is still fully clothed, the soft fabric of his t-shirt and lounge pants a strange uniform for this kind of thing. It’s much more what he’d usually wear when he has a massage client on his table, but he supposes it makes sense. He’s providing a service right now just as much as he is then.  True, there’s no payment here, but the end goal is the same; apply the right kind of pressure, and the pain can melt away discomfort carried in silence for too long.

This isn’t about sex. It’s not even really about submission. There’s an aspect of that, for sure, but it’s not the crux of what he’s offering Dean. This is about catharsis, about healing, and about giving Dean an outlet for things he’s barely willing to acknowledge he’s fighting with. Dean’s a beautiful soul, caring and self-sacrificing to a fault, and he needs some kind of salvation from the torture he inflicts on himself. Maybe Castiel can grant him that salvation. It’s not in his nature to pass up the opportunity to try.

And sure, he’s going to enjoy this. Castiel always does. How could he not, especially when the ass he’s about to spank is as perfectly formed as the one Dean is presenting without hesitation, and especially when it’s attached to such a gorgeous man. It’s not about sex, but that doesn’t mean that Castiel has been able to completely avoid raking his eyes over Dean’s body. His broad shoulders are beautifully muscled, his chest toned and strong, and there’s just a hint of softness to his stomach that speaks of his love of food but is no less beautiful than all the hard planes of him. Castiel tries not to let his eyes linger too long on what sits lower, the half-hard cock hanging between Dean’s legs as much of a temptation as he’s ever seen, but Castiel will not break the trust Dean has placed in him. He told Dean he was going to strike him with the palm of his hand only, and that’s exactly what he’ll do.

Dean offers assent in strangled words, his croaking doing nothing at all to disguise his apprehension. Castiel feels for him. This is not a position most people ever anticipate themselves being in, and it’s certainly hard to prepare for. His mind must be a storm of thoughts right now. Castiel must help him quiet them.

“If you decide this is for you, eventually you’ll want to pick a safeword. For now, we’ll use the stoplight system. Green means you’re ok to proceed or you’re fine with what’s happening. Yellow means it’s pushing your limits. Proceed with caution. Red means full stop, immediately. Do you understand?” He speaks slowly, his low voice calm and sonorous. He’s been told it’s soothing to hear him speak like this. Castiel’s past subs have all said as much.

“Yup. Makes sense. I got it.” Even now, laid bare and at Castiel’s command, Dean is cocky and mouthy, a cover for his insecurities.

“I’m going to start now. Are you green?”

“Green.” Dean affirms.

“Put your hands on the bedframe. Answer me when I speak to you. You can cry out if it hurts, but if you need me to stop you have to use the stoplight colours.” This is a lie, but it’s one for Dean’s benefit. He wants Dean to think about what he’s feeling, to consider if the pain he’s in is something he _should_ endure, not just if it’s something he _can_ endure. Unless Castiel misses his guess, Dean is something of a martyr, allowing himself to suffer needlessly just to avoid having to admit that something is more than he can handle. Castiel will be listening for his safeword, certainly, but he’ll stop without it if he thinks Dean is holding back from using it.

As soon as Dean’s hands take their position on the bedframe as commanded, Castiel’s hand cuts through the air in a sweeping arc and connects with the smooth, white skin of Dean’s ass. He yelps, startled, and it’s all Castiel can do to contain the mirthful chuckle that bubbles up. A red mark already adorns his pale skin, and Castiel cannot wait to see how bright it gets with the multitude of smacks he plans to deliver, but that first one is always especially delicious.

Dean takes the next smack with more reserve, flinching under the assault but keeping the startled sounds under wraps. Castiel supposes the first one was a bit of a surprise, coming faster and harder than he anticipated, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll lose his resolve soon, and his ability to keep quiet along with it. Castiel will make sure of it. Dean will sing for him before the night is over.

Once the initial shock is over, Castiel strikes Dean with regularity, a rhythmic series of blows that don’t really vary much in intensity. He peppers Dean’s ass and thighs with sharp, firm blows, warming and pinking the skin until Dean breaks his silence and starts to offer up strangled little grunts from time to time. They aren’t the kind of noises Cas is going for, but they’re a start.

“What’s your color?” he asks presently, pausing his assault. The room is still and quiet for a moment that stretches out far too long for Dean to just be considering what his answer should be.

“I asked you a question, Dean,” he tries again. It’s hard to keep his voice level, hard to keep the tiny quirk of a smile that’s dancing its way across his face from coming through in the tone of his words. They’ve barely gotten started and Dean is already starting to let the pain change him. He’s submitting, whether he knows it or not, letting himself get closer to that place Cas is trying to help him find, the place where the physical pain replaces the emotional, and he can really start to let go. Not being a submissive himself, Castiel doesn’t truly understand what it’s like to float in subspace, but those he has played with in the past have told him enough to add to his own observations and give him a pretty good idea of what to look for. Dean’s not there, but he’s headed in that direction.

“Sorry. Sorry. What did you say?” Dean replies quickly once prompted again, and Castiel can’t deny that he kinda loves the way Dean practically scurries to obey.

“I said, what’s your colour?” The way Castiel paces back and forth behind Dean probably gives an air of impatience, but he’s the furthest thing from it. He could wait all night if he had to, though he’s certain Dean won’t keep him waiting. He’s starting to get the impression that Dean is a very, very good boy, and Castiel has no reason to believe he’ll be disappointed.

“Green,” Dean murmurs, his voice thick. “Green.”

“Good, that’s good.” Castiel smiles to himself, cataloging the almost imperceptible shudder that runs through Dean’s body when he speaks the praise. He stands close behind Dean, leaning in to rest a hand on his shoulder. He’s close enough to press lips to Dean’s skin if he wanted to, close enough that it requires actual effort to make sure the erection tenting his pants doesn’t brush against Dean’s thigh. Dean might be flattered, he might be offended. Castiel can’t really be sure, and he has no intention of finding out. Not today anyway.

“Are you good Dean?” Castiel doesn’t even give him time to reply before the hand that grips Dean’s shoulder slides away and connects with his ass sharply, the sound ringing out in the quiet of the room. Dean only flinches a little at the pain. He’s quiet for a very long time after the question is posed, and this time Cas knows for sure it’s because he’s considering his answer. He paces again while Dean contemplates his choice, steady as a metronome.

When Dean finally speaks, his voice is soft and meek. “No,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m not good.”  It doesn’t suit him. Dean should never feel the need to be meek even in his submission. Castiel wants him to submit, of course he does, but he never wants to use it to make Dean feel less than. Quite the contrary. There’s power in Dean’s submission, power and strength. Dean is so much more than he gives himself credit for, that much is clear to Castiel, and the more he learns about this man the more impressed he is. No, meekness doesn’t look good on Dean.

“You aren’t?” Cas replies, barely containing the incredulity he feels. Who hurt him so, that he truly believes this of himself? Castiel wishes he could get his hands on _that_ person. “Whatever makes you say that?”

“I’m not,” Dean presses, sounding so small that it breaks Castiel’s heart to hear it. “I fuck everything up.”

Cas hums, considering. “Is that so? Well, I’m not so sure about that. But if you think you’ve been bad, there’s really only one thing for it.” He slaps Dean again before he can open his mouth to comment or question, and then again, and again, until his hand is hot from the impacts and Dean is whimpering softly, wriggling a little as instinct kicks in and he tries to avoid the sting. Soon the whimpers give way to louder noises, soft moans and grunts, and eventually cries of pain that are pure music to Castiel’s ears. This is what he loves, taking a strong man like Dean and taking him apart, then putting him back together somehow stronger than he was before.

“Tell me you’re good,” Castiel commands, his voice sharp. If Dean won’t be swayed by gentle persuasion, maybe he’ll bow to direct orders. “Say it. Say that you’re good.”

“I’m not though,” Dean chokes out. He sounds watery, like a man on the verge of tears. Castiel will push him to that point if he has to. He will make Dean cry if that’s what it takes to leave him better than Castiel found him. The fact that he’ll enjoy doing it is completely beside the point.

“Yes, you are,” Castiel insists, because he believes it, and because Dean needs someone in his life to tell him that, to drown out all the voices that say he isn’t. “But it doesn’t matter if you agree. It only matters that you say it. You’ll do it because I told you to, or you’ll be punished again.” Maybe that’s taking things too far. Dean is only just beginning to explore his submission, and that might be more than he’s ready to handle. It’s all Cas can do not to hold his breath while he waits for Dean to answer. Whatever he says next will decide the course of this scene and, perhaps, this friendship. Castiel could love Dean, he thinks, if Dean would let him. He could love Dean, or he could dominate him and go back to being just friends when the door closes after a scene. He could fall into any of those things, if Dean will let him, and he’d do it all happily, but just like in any power exchange like this, Dean holds all the cards. He’s the one submitting, and if he opens his mouth and a safeword spills out, there isn’t a fibre in Castiel’s body that would consider ignoring it.

“I can’t,” Dean whimpers, and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief even while his hand rises again to rain down a flurry of smacks to Dean’s ass. It’s not what he wanted, not really. If he had his way, Dean would admit that he’s good even if he isn’t ready to believe it. But even this denial, this refusal to do as he’s told, is consent to stay in the scene. He won’t bow, but he’s not calling red, and that’s something. It proves Dean is wrong about himself. He _is_ good, so good for Castiel, and one day, Castiel hopes to make him believe it.

He works Dean over meticulously. He’s fierce. His hand aches from the repeated collisions with Dean’s ass and thighs, and it’s likely the same shade of red that’s blossomed on Dean’s skin, but none of that matters. All that matters is that Dean cries out in pain as Cas spanks him, but none of the cries are a safeword.

Castiel doesn’t count the strokes. He doesn’t have to. There’s no number in mind. He’ll go until Dean begs him to stop, or commands him with that one word that means more than all the power Castiel possesses, or until he decides Dean’s had enough.

The first wracked sob is the thing that gets him. Dean has been yelping, hollering and howling with pain for several minutes now, but this is the first sign that he’s truly crying. It startles Castiel a little, but it’s a beautiful sound. It means that he’s pushed Dean past the point where he’s fighting against this.  It means Dean has given himself over. He’s not a man who cries easily, that much Castiel ascertained nearly right away when they met. He wanted to cry that night in the pub over too much whiskey and too much stress, but he held himself together even when he was blackout drunk. It wasn’t even that Dean didn’t want to cry, it’s that he didn’t feel like he could. Now, under Castiel’s hands, Dean’s far enough removed from those self-imposed restrictions to let go, and Castiel is so, so proud of him for bearing this, for submitting and taking solace in the release. He spanks Dean a few more times just to hear the choked noises he makes through his tears, and then he decides enough is enough.

The only thing keeping Dean upright at this moment is the deathgrip he has on the bedframe. Castiel grips his shoulders tightly but gently, coaxing him away from the bedframe with whispered praise. Once he’s got Dean moving, it doesn’t take much effort to get him to the side of the bed, then up onto the mattress, sprawled out face down and still very much disoriented. Castiel climbs up beside him, wiping away the tears in his eyes with a tissue before carding his fingers soothingly through Dean’s sandy locks.

“You did so well,” he whispers, though he knows Dean doesn’t really register the words. “So good. You’re wonderful. You’re amazing.” He means every word of it.

Soon, Dean will come back to his senses. Soon, Dean will open his eyes, and there will be aftermath. Castiel doesn’t have the insight to know exactly how this will change their friendship, but he’s glad it happened regardless. Having his hands on Dean like this, making him sing with pain, making him cry this way is a gift he’d never refuse. And if it’s a one-time deal then so be it, but Dean submitted so well, took the pain so beautifully, that Castiel seriously doubts he’ll be able to walk away from this.

As he murmurs praise and bestows gentle touches, Castiel is awed by Dean’s beauty. He’s not so much asleep as just drifting, but he’s remarkably peaceful either way. And when the fight has gone out of his features, when he’s calm and relaxed and devoid of pretense, his already gorgeous face takes on a whole new level of beauty. Castiel could definitely get used to this. He could find so much space in his life for a man like Dean. He’d love to fall asleep next to this man every night and wake up to him every day. He’d love to press soft kisses to his face while he drifts like this, or to follow the assault of pain up with mind numbing pleasure. Dean probably makes the most beautiful noises when he comes. Perhaps Castiel will be lucky enough to find out first hand someday.

“Hi,” Castiel murmurs softly as Dean opens his eyes. He offers a gentle smile, hoping the warmth gives Dean a sense of safety. He must be so disoriented, waking up in a strange bed like this with his ass on fire.

“Hi,” Dean returns, sounding a little confused but at least not frightened. He’s not running, not reaching for his pants and eyeing the door. He’s not shying away from Castiel’s touch either. There’s a charged moment where Castiel thinks he could kiss Dean, that it might even be welcomed, but he knows better than to push in a situation like this. He wants to, though. He wants it so badly, but for now, he’ll have to settle for telling Dean how well he did, and making sure he sleeps well and wakes without any traces of sub drop to mar the memory of what they did here tonight.

Keeping this platonic is going to be much, much harder than Castiel originally anticipated.

Hopefully, Dean will feel sturdy enough to get out of bed soon, because Castiel could definitely use a drink right about now.


End file.
